12 minutes to the 13th hour, an hour before the dimming.

  ‘Breaking News from Yau… We already have our journalist on the scene. Jeni, go ahead.’

  Jeni Laozi raised her voice to be heard above the din.

  ‘This is Jeni Laozi, reporting live from the Gujin Bazaar, where we’ve just witnessed the unexpected and gruesome execution of the legendary General Jian. An emotional crowd numbering in the hundreds of thousands has gathered here in the Yau capital. A remarkable sight.

  ‘We all remember General Jian, who deserted his post as a Dragon of Yu two annui-cycles ago. But our older audiences may recall his pivotal role in ending the District Rebellions back in ‘61. As you can see, the Ji Sia are busy stringing up his crucifix in the bazaar.’

  Jeni spoke under her breath to her cameraman, ‘Fan, see if you can get an angle on those Luen boys.’

  The camera panned to the right and zoomed in, showing six red-faced Ji Sia gangsters heaving on a rope. Jian’s corpse, with its missing right leg, hung stiff underneath the bindings holding him to the cross.

  Jeni continued, her voice quivering with emotion.

  ‘I can now confirm the executioner was Keung Yaozhi, nephew of Emperor Puyin and son of the great Dragon, General Denzhen. A tough position for the general, no doubt, his son slaying the man he once considered a brother-in-arms.

  ‘Jian’s death has sent shock waves throughout Kowloon, with sources claiming the news has reached as far down as the Huang Wildlands. It’s uncertain how the citizens of Kowloon will react, given Jian’s complex legacy both as a legendary strategist and a defector to the Yang…’

  Jeni’s attention shifted as she muttered, ‘Fan, Fan, track in on Jian, if you can…’

  The camera closed in on Jian rising higher and higher into the air.

  ‘… This tragic and abrupt end to a two annui-cycle chase leaves Kowloon in a state of uncertainty. With the revelation of Keung Yaozhi’s involvement, questions will no doubt arise about the complex web of relationships among those who still admire Jian, Keung Yaozhi, and the lords and ladies of Kowloon, who are demanding retribution against the Yang. Stay tuned as we continue our coverage of this developing story.’

  23 minutes past the 19th hour, a few hours after the dimming.

  Keung’s legs burned from climbing up twenty levels. Now he was almost eye level with the cubed analogue clock, which hung from a thick, wrought iron chain that disappeared into the darkness above. Strangely, the noise level was still as overwhelming all the way up here.

  Pivoting on his heel, Keung spotted a shop owner across the way, a serene-looking older man whose eyes widened at the sight of a Kingmaker walking up to the counter in front of his cramped stall.

  ‘Uh, h-hello good s-sir,’ he stammered. ‘Enjoying yourself up h-here? Can I be of service?’

  Keung’s gaze swept over the shelves of plastic toys, key rings, stationery, and electronic gizmos. He got straight to the point, his voice urgent.

  ‘Did you see who they placed on the cross?’

  ‘Y-yes, sir. Jian of the Yang. Shushu and Lien announced his capture over the bazaar’s top-level speakers. They’re all celebrating back at the station, I hear.’

  Shushu and Lien. Must be the local Ji Sia patrol, Keung thought. ‘Why’s there a dummy on the cross, then? Who took Jian down?’

  The shop owner’s brow furrowed.

  ‘W-why, sir, I thought your people did? Three men wearing gold-striped trench coats rappelled from the ceiling and hauled the body to Upper Gujin. It’s only been, what, not even an hour? Everyone’s been taking photos of that mannequin they left in its stead. We thought maybe the siblings gave the order.’

  Then maybe word hasn’t reached the Ji Sia yet. But a couple of rogue Kingmakers defying local law will only make matters worse.

  ‘How do I get to Upper Gujin?’ he demanded.

  The shop owner pointed a trembling hand toward the right, along the crowded balcony. ‘Th-there’s a fire-escape door that way, sir. A red one. But I’ve never seen a soul go through it. Light knows what’s beyond. Far as I know, it’s a shortcut to Upper Gujin, some maintenance tunnel. Otherwise, you need to descend to the bottom level of the bazaar again and find the highway.’

  Keung craned his head back and caught a flash of red for a brief second as people rushed past.

  Turning back to the shop owner, he forced a tight-lipped smile. ‘Thank you, sir.’

  He withdrew two heavy coins from his pocket and dropped them on the counter.

  ‘This is for your help.’

  ‘N-no need, sir. No need. To be of service to the Kings is payment enough!’ He tried to return the coins, but Keung shook his head and stalked off, processing what he’d just learned.

  The red door squeaked open, revealing only darkness beyond. Keung’s silhouette cast shadows on the ground as light from behind him spilt into the mysterious space. Music from the bazaar pounded at Keung’s back, but as he stepped forward and closed the door behind him, it soon faded to muted thuds. The air inside was thick and humid, clinging to Keung’s skin. He tugged at the collar of his shirt beneath his coat and armour, trying to find some relief.

  Fiddling with the side of his cap, Keung activated a strip of white light on the visor’s edge to illuminate the dark corridor. Despite the powerful beam, the light didn’t show any end; it faded into black as if it dared not venture further. He stood motionless for a moment and took in his surroundings: damp concrete walls just two metres apart, their top edges stained with constant leakage, and a low, bowed ceiling made of rotten wooden beams. The smell of sewage hung in the air. The ground was a mishmash of cracked, pitted cobble stone, with piles of dust accumulating where it met the walls.

  Keung could hear the squeaks of sewer rodents scurrying in the oppressive darkness beyond the reach of his light. He wished he was back in the corridors of the Yu Tower instead. He activated his holocommunicator map to check whether this decrepit route to Upper Gujin was available. As the orange holographic display appeared above his wrist, he groaned.

  No such luck. Appears I’m the first King through this area.

  With a few more taps, Keung enabled the passive mapping tool, to document his intended route. This would ensure he was the last Kingmaker to navigate it without guidance. Satisfied, he switched off his holocommunicator, waved his trench coat’s skirt aside, and set off with a firm grip on the hand cannon on his hip.

  Startled by the sudden scuttle of a sewer rodent behind him, Keung drew his gun and swung it around, aiming into the darkness, only to find nothing there. He holstered it again with a sigh. Living in Kowloon meant you were always surrounded by people; solitude was a luxury many craved, a feeling Keung didn’t share right now.

  As the path continued straight ahead, he began to question whether it really led to Upper Gujin. The echo of dripping water looped tortuously in Keung’s ears as he struggled to find any sign of stairs or ladders.

  I hope my aching legs are a sign I’m walking up an incline and not because I’m unfit.

  As he continued walking, his visor light glinted off something on the right side up ahead. It was a square corrugated sheet of tin leaned against the wall. Someone had scrawled the characters “Upper Gujin” across it in white spray paint: Zhang, Gu, Jin.

  What a relief. Thought I’d need to stay in here longer.

  Keung lifted the tin sheet and shifted it to the side, revealing a square hole at knee height. He squatted down and peered through it. There appeared to be a sewer on the other side, with the sounds of water meandering between weathered brick walls. Concrete-slab walkways lined either side of the water, but the opening was in the middle of a bend. To the right, the sewer extended into darkness, while to the left, he saw a flickering light in the distance. A fire from either a bonfire or a barrel.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Gotta be people ahead.

  As he glanced down the empty corridor one last time, Keung thought he heard distant echoes of voices drawing closer. Swallowing his disquiet, he slipped through the opening and dragged the tin sheet back behind him, eager to escape the eerie confines of the tunnel.

  Moving forward, the echo of Keung’s footsteps filled the sewer. His visor-light gleamed off the green water that lapped against the mossy walkway. The light ahead drew closer, revealing itself to be a lit barrel.

  Keung discovered it was the centre of a small slum encampment of faded tents lined up on either side of the waterway. A few people huddled around the fire, their hands outstretched, clad in layers of ragged garments. Others squatted against the wall on the opposite side, gnawing on blackened sewer rodents, while the rest stared listlessly at the murky water. The dim light of scattered barrels provided the only illumination in the encampment. It seemed the people here had adapted to a life of perpetual darkness, hunting and gathering within the vast expanse of the Gujin sewer systems.

  As the lone Kingmaker walked through the sewer slum, he passed the entrance of a partially closed tent, his visor light reflected against a pair of motionless, pale legs sticking out. The sickly, cloying odour in the air suggested it was a corpse.

  I wonder if they still float their deceased down into the Memorial Pipes, or if the decaying stench now lures sewer rodents… fattening them before everyone here descends to feast.

  Keung pitied their dismal existence. They barely reacted to his presence, either too consumed by their daily struggle for survival or so disconnected from the world above they no longer understood the significance of a Kingmaker.

  A hushed silence permeated the area, broken only by the gentle flow of water, the crackles of the lit barrel, and the subtle shifts of heads as some watched Keung pass. He forced himself to take deep, calming breaths through his mouth, and ventured on, eager to leave the sewer slum behind him.

  Three scratched Yue characters were scribbled over a rectangular sign at the top of the door.

  I bet that says Upper Gujin.

  Taking a running leap, he jumped across the water to reach it.

  Yes, I’m finally getting somewhere!

  He twisted the knob, which spun freely, but the door refused to budge, indicating that either it was jammed or something was blocking it from the other side. Undeterred, Keung kicked at the door, focusing his force near the knob. It only took a few powerful blows for it to fly open.

  It contained a long-abandoned maintenance room. Inside, dust and grime coated the numerous valve wheels and broken consoles and machinery that had once controlled the sewer system outside. Rows of rusty lockers and tarnished sewer pipes lined the walls, accompanied by an array of cryptic buttons and levers that had long since lost their labels.

  The room was a graveyard of dated technology – handheld gauges, hard hats and outdated holopads lay strewn across workbenches and atop disused consoles. Littered all over the floor were various measuring devices and tools, some dating back at least half a century to Emperor Guangxu’s era, from before the rebellions. Keung remembered studying some of these devices in his academy’s engineering classes. They’d remained the same for centuries until Emperor Puyin introduced the Zhaisheng, which was currently propelling scientific innovation.

  Keung navigated the labyrinth of interconnected rooms, each filled with neglected equipment. As he opened door after door, one in particular caught his eye; it was already ajar, and he could feel a draft escaping through the gap. Pushing it open, a cloud of dust caused him to cough as the light from his visor cut through the murky haze.

  Inside the cramped space was a rusted-orange ladder that looked promising. He tested its structural integrity with a firm shake, relieved to find it sturdier than it appeared. Gritting his teeth, Keung climbed the ladder, hearing the bustle of heavy foot traffic above. At its top, he attempted to push the circular manhole cover open.

  His first try was unsuccessful as it was immediately shoved back down. He tried again, this time managing to just lift it before downward pressure from above slammed it shut.

  I can’t believe this.

  With a deep breath, he shoved the lid open and heaved himself onto the street.

  Startled pedestrians stopped to stare at him. Nonplussed, Keung wrestled the manhole cover back into place, switched his cap’s visor light off, and took in his surroundings. No idea where this is. I’ll check my map.

  He raised his wrist and activated his holocommunicator. Because the map was the last application he opened, it was the first thing that popped up. He scanned the digital interface and saw that he was on the 60th floor of Upper Gujin, a sprawling complex that mirrored Lower Gujin Bazaar in scale.

  The map displayed foot traffic glowing red near the highway exit at the south end of the complex, which indicated a high volume of people likely heading to the Gujin Bazaar to see Jian’s crucifix. However, Keung knew he was the only one who knew what was really hanging down there.

  Switching his holocommunicator off, he looked up and turned in a circle to observe his surroundings. He stood in a pedestrian mega-highway, rather than an ordinary arcade street or avenue. The massive thoroughfare carved its way through the heart of the groundscraper, with bridges and pathways stretching out in all directions like the tendrils of a spider’s web.

  A dizzying array of footbridges crisscrossed the air above in tiered layers, their sides adorned with LED screens with pixelated, flashing graphics and Yue characters scrolling past. Keung was still acclimating to the towering verticality of these megalithic structures outside District Yu, a place that knew nothing of such anxiety-inducing heights, despite its wealth and opulence.

  The oncoming stampede of pedestrians parted around Keung, no doubt recognising his distinctive Kingmaker attire. I’m glad this place isn’t as chaotic as the Bazaar. The extra space will make it easier to find the body… but where the hell is it?

  The thought of questioning random pedestrians crossed Keung’s mind, then he frowned and sniffed hard.

  That smell… Shit, is that what I think it is?

  Keung attempted to follow the scent of burning, adjusting his course when it grew fainter. Open fires were federally illegal, this rare smell was distinct. Soon, he noticed wisps of smoke, as well as the growing reactions of civilians around him. He navigated down the winding highway, seeing the walkway becoming narrower as it led him to a more rundown and urbanised part of the Gujin complex, where traffic was sparse, and the structures displayed more exposed brick and weathered graffiti than plastered walls. Here the smoke grew denser as he tracked it to a small, dark alley off to the side.

  Tucked between two residential apartment blocks, the alley echoed with the post-work cycle rhythm of life emanating from open, iron-grilled windows. The sounds of running water in sinks, stews bubbling on stoves, and entertainment consoles streaming shows filled the air. Through some windows, curious onlookers peered between the bars, watching the source of the smoke below. Sewer rodents darted across his path, and Keung caught sight of a dusk-cat rummaging through a large garbage bin. Then he stopped in his tracks. At the alley’s dead end were three Kingmakers in dark trench coats and officer caps, their backs turned to him as they watched over an illegal cremation pyre.

  Squaring his shoulders, Keung stepped forward. He wanted to tell them of his intentions, join in cremating Jian and shield them from any subsequent repercussions.

  But the moment he stepped into the alley, all three men swivelled their heads around, a testament to their keen Kingmaker-trained senses.

  Keung halted a few metres away and tried to recognise their faces, wishing to address them by name. Two of the Kingmakers were fresh-faced, not much older than Keung himself, but the one in the middle was greyer, perhaps closer to his father’s age. Keung didn’t know any of their names. Then, the older Kingmaker’s face morphed from disbelief to unfiltered rage.

  ‘That’s Denzhen’s spawn!’ he spat. The younger Kingmaker on the right reflected the same fury, but the one on the left remained dumbfounded.

  ‘Please, listen to me!’ Keung exclaimed from the other end of the alley. ‘I understand if you’re angry with me —’

  ‘You murdered our general!’ the one on the right bellowed.

  Keung raised his hands in a placatory gesture. ‘No, wait! Please hear me out!’

  Without warning, two of the Kingmakers bolted towards him, the third failing to grab and stop them. Keung’s eyes widened, his thoughts lagging behind reality. One Kingmaker shot low, slamming a shoulder into Keung’s waist, with arms clamping around both legs: a double leg takedown. Keung reacted on instinct. His hands locked around the attacker’s waist, feet kicking back in a sprawl. He leaned forward and downward, forcing his weight over the attacker, stalling the takedown. But the second Kingmaker was right behind, fists coming his way. With both arms busy, Keung took the strike to his jaw, his consciousness flickering as the first Kingmaker lifted and slammed him to the ground.

  Unable to rise in time, Keung became the focus of their fury. All he could do was curl into a ball to protect his head against their ground-and-pound, pain lancing through him with every stomp and blow. The only sounds he heard were the receding grunts and shouts of his attackers.

  ‘Silver-spooned fuck!’

  ‘Think you’re a good person?!’

  ‘… never should’ve come here!’

  Cracking an eye open, Keung’s blurry gaze met the two enraged faces above. The third Kingmaker was attempting to pry his compatriots away, but to no avail. Their rage deafened them to reason.

  An agonising sting pierced his lungs and Keung gasped for air, his breaths shallow. Not even a shout escaped Keung’s lips. His hold on consciousness slipped further, edging him closer to darkness.

  I’m going to die… They’re going to kill me! Ba! Help me!

  Just as Keung felt he was about to pass out, the pain subsided, replaced by adrenaline flooding his system. He felt a sense of calm wash through him, and whirring engaged somewhere near his kidneys. His adrenal pumps were activating, along with something that shouldn’t have switched on; his Eye came to life, its blue glow unnoticed by the two Kings pummelling him.

  The left eye implant moved without conscious thought, analysing the assailants through the gap between Keung’s cradling arms. Just as he received one last kick to his head, his hand shot out, unholstered his hand cannon, and fired a single shot in a lightning-fast motion.

  The gunshot flashed through the alley, silencing the chaos, but jolting Keung back to reality. To his horror, the younger of his two attacker lay on the ground, a bullet hole in the centre of his forehead.

  ‘Truong!? Truong?!’ The two other Kingmakers dove down to check their comrade.

  Keung staggered to his feet, heaving for breath, the smoking gun still tight in his grasp. He retreated until his back was against the wall, his heart pounding as he fumbled his hand cannon back into its holders. He focused on the limp Kingmaker on the floor.

  What just happened? Why is he on the floor?

  Then it dawned on him. He’d killed a fellow Kingmaker.

  All the while, his Eye faded from icy blue to its usual dark brown.

  One of the Kingmakers cradled his fallen comrade. ‘I CAN’T FEEL HIM BREATHING!’

  ‘PUMP HIS CHEST! FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!!’

  The desperation in their voices tore at Keung’s heart.

  What… What have I done?!